


!@$^%$#.

by cawkids



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Gen, Multi, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, implied selfharm, shrugs for ten years, surprise yall this is actually an au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-12
Updated: 2019-01-13
Packaged: 2019-07-11 11:27:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 2,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15971384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cawkids/pseuds/cawkids
Summary: the bros going through some stuff





	1. red

**Author's Note:**

> prompto going through some stuff

_!@$^%$#. _

Prompto breathed. His skin felt like a glass container. So many cracks. Too many chips. He was going to break. He knew. He would break n this man’s hands. This daemon shaped as a man. This daemon shaped like a man with a shattered soul. The shattered soul, its pieces lost into the waves of the vast ocean of madness. Yes. prompto was going to break. 

He would become what he was created to do. To break and crack under the pressure of the king’s blade. He would lose what he was never meant to have. He would lose the sense he had created by himself with his idiocy and hopelessness. The pain would be swift at least. The swift pain was something he wished but knew he would not deserve. The pain he did deserve was long and slow. He deserved to be bled dry and left to waste away into nothing but dust. He deserved to be turned into the only thing he was created to be. And he will. 

His wrists hurt. But not because of his own self this time. They’ve been hung up. But why? Ah. the man. That’s right, the daemon. The daemon shaped like a man. The daemon shaped like a man with a shattered s-- “Prompto.”

"Prompto."

How long has he carried that name on his shoulders. On his head like that was his real name. “Prompto.” Again. Who was he. A glass container. Useless. Worthless. Because a container with cracks and chips can hold nothing but dust. He cannot be used. 

He cannot be trusted.

At night. At the early mornings, before the sun graces the land with her warmth. Warmth that prompto does not deserve. He feels unstoppable. He feels stringless. No longer a marionette. Run into the night, they whisper. Nothing is stopping to to just run and keep running. And sometimes he finds himself at the door. Sometimes he comes to with a hand on the handle. The handle turned and lock unclicked. Sometimes he is outside. Bare feet kissing the moist dirt. Boots soaked in the ocean’s hushing, rushing shore. His sleep pants soaked to his waist by the flowing rivers under the bridge. The wind would whisper into his hair. It felt like a soft memory he forced away from himself. It would whisper to run away with it. Let us be one, let us become nothing but a breeze to others. 

Then all he would see it red. Red. red. Red. and it would hurt. Sometimes. Sometimes. Yes. it would sting. Other times it would feel like fire licking at his skin. Sometimes. Not all the time. But sometimes. It would be as if this was what he was meant to do all along. Like he was made for this. Yes. the red would come. And he was made for it. 

When he would crack. When he would chip. When his glass container would crack and chip. The red would come. Yes. the red would come like a flow of a river. Of the push and pull of the ocean. Like the shifting dirt underneath his bare feet. It’s what he was made for. It’s what he was made for. It’s what he was

“Prompto.”

His name. No. a name. Just a name that the one from that soft memory he forced away from himself gave him. A name to be called instead of !@#$%^%$#. Yes. instead of !@#$%^%$#. He can’t remember. It’s on his wrist. The wrist where the red never comes out of. No matter how much he’s tried. He doesn’t dare to look. Doesn’t dare to read it. Doesn’t dare to ever speak the combination of the characters out loud. !@$^%$#. "Prompto.”  !@$^%$#. !@$^%$#. _ “Prompto.”  _  His mind hurts. 

He needed to see the red again. It’s what he was made for. But he knew the next time he saw red. It wouldn’t be from his own hand. It won’t be when he followed their whispers. It wouldn’t be when the wind whispered and caressed his hair. 

He will see the red rise like a thousand pinpricks all at once. He will see red because that was what he was made for. He will see red. He will become what he was created to do. To break and crack under the pressure of the king’s blade.

_ “PROMPTO!” _


	2. green

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> gladio huh

Gladio let the breath rattle his rib cage. Again. Again. Again. Agai

He screamed. Or he would have liked to. Yeah. That would have been a nice thing to do. But it was a rude thing to do. It was 2am. Everyone was asleep.

Gladio let the breath rattle his rib cage.

Red was smeared on his thigh. His hand, the culprit. He let another small, unsteady breath out.

Green. He looked at the ceiling of his room. He adorned the soft mural his mother had painted for him. The coloura of gladioli sprinkling throughout the green green greenery of floral crests. 

Green. Green. Green.

His head felt light. So unlike what he was born to be. Heavy and headstrong. But for now. He would allow himself to be light. Fuzzy. Dizzy. Light. He would punish himself for it later. 

All he wanted to do was feel green. He looked at his hand. The culprit. Red tainted. He had to be red to feel green sometimes. Red.

He made sure not to leave any new colour on his surroundings. Light. Light. Light. Light. Oops.

The white of the basin. Its pink now. He let himself giggle as he goggled it. He will punish himself for giggling later. He likes pink, he thinks. Still not green. Red is sometimes nice. Still not green.

He needs to be green. Needs to like green. Needs to breath green.

Not green. Red.

He stared at his hand. The culprit. He stared at his thigh. Smeared red. Bubbles of it popping up between lines.

Words. Two. All he could manage. He shook too much. All that could be deciphered.

@*#$#*!. &/^$&#!**.

Yep. All that could be deciphered was that. He blinked. Still not green.

He needed to be green. But he let himself be red for now. He will punish himself later for it.


	3. not red

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dear baby  
> I hope someday, somebody wants to hold you for twenty minutes straight  
> They don't pull away, they don't look at your face  
> And they don't try to kiss you  
> All they do is wrap you up in their arms and hold on tight without an ounce of selfishness in it  
> I hope you become addicted, baby  
> I hope you become addicted to sayin' things  
> And having them matter to someone

He felt warmth seep through the blanket and kiss his cold skin. Warmth. It was a strange feeling. But here he was, feeling something he thought he never would. It was a strange feeling. So unlike heat from a fire. Heat from the blanket that wrapped around him. It sunk deep with in his gut, straight up to his heart.

“I love you.” Someone once said. Not to him. Never to him. From one to another. But not to him. He blinked. Ah. It was wet. Why?

You’re crying? They asked, But why? Did something happen? What’s wrong? 

Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. The fact that there’s nothing. He let out a shuddering breath. Nothing, he smiled. Nothing at all. 

Hands touched him. His shoulder, his thigh, and his hand. All radiating warmth. Nothing at all, he would repeat. Warmth. Deep with in his gut, straight to his heart. Fuzzy. Warm. Safe. Fuzzy, so unlike the fuzzy he would feel after the red. It was a nice fuzzy. Warm. Safe.

“I love you,” Someone once said. Someone once said. Someone once said. Something they all said. To him. Something they said to him. Always to him. From them to him. To him. He blinked again. The warmth. Yes. There it was. Threatening to overflow and spill all over the carpet. Just like the red. But this was a different red. Different fuzzy. Warm. Safe.

He then remembered. “I love you,” Someone once said to him. Long before it was something they said. 

“I love you, Prompto.” 

Prompto. I love you. Someone once said. Something they said. To him. To Prompto. It was warm. And he felt safe. It wasn’t red. But it wasn’t green. Not yet. But he knew it would be. One day.

(It wouldn’t. Not yet. Not for a long time. But for now he would keep feeling fuzzy. Warm. Safe. With I love you’s for him, and only him.)


	4. ugly noise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> surprise this is an au,  
> Noctis is younger, and takes on what he does in the game.  
> some canon deviation  
> and he's in love with his bodyguards, 100% pure and unrequited, sorry noct,  
>  but consenting adults are what the bros go for  
> maybe in ten years or so, huh?

He grasped onto his advisor’s cold hands. His own unable to tighten around the cold, shivering ones in his grasp. He coughed, water flooding his lungs and throat. “Please…..P..please!”

The sky covered with angry clouds. The faraway shrill of an angrier goddess. It echoed within the deserted city. His shoulders shuddered, his shaking vibrating throughout his unconcious advisor. He couldn’t. He couldn’t.

“Please! For the love of six, please, wake up!”

The storm screamed, yet he tried to scream louder. His tears fell, weighing heavier than the harsh rain battering the red stained pavement. Red. Ignis. He choked again. Gums salty with ocean water. He needed to move. He couldn’t move.

Ignis needed to wake up. It wasn’t funny. This wasn’t funny. He could only do so much. He cursed his legs to move. His back hurt. It stung deep within his tissue. His legs throbbed. Move. MOVE. MOVE. GOD PLEASE. JUST MOVE. He couldn’t. He was left paralysed underneath his unconcious advisor. 

He sobbed harder. There was only so much he could do. His sword was tauntingly just out of reach. He whimpered as he tried stretching his arm further, the twangs and twinges of sharp pain akin to blades piercing his lower back. He had to move. Please. Gods. The six. Please. There was only so much he could do. He kept trying. Kept stretching.

Footsteps thundered on the pavement. The red stained pavement. Ignis. Ignis was staining the pavement. Gods, he would hate to have woken up to such a mess. He slammed his fist down onto the concrete. He screamed. 

Ignis’ weight was lifted off him. Prompto. Gladio. He sobbed. He had to move. Please. Please, please, ple--

“I’ve got you buddy.” Warmth enveloped him. As warm as the cold bare arms could be. As warm as cold, heavy, drenched leather vests could be. He cried out. He hysterically heaved into his gunman’s chest. There was only so much he could do. Ignis.

He shifted to see his advisor. Limp. Bleeding. Pain. Pain. Pain. RED. RED. RED. He screamed out again, arms stretching out to hold him. Small hands grasping in the air. Ignis. There was so much he could do. So much he didn’t do. His head throbbed. His eyes, tired. He wretched a heavy, choked, ugly noise from his throat, 

He wouldn’t stop making such a noise until he was tucked underneath thick blankets, away from the chaos that would die down. Away from the man who killed his first love, and who almost killed his second love. Away from who will indirectly kill his third love. Away from who will steal and torment his fourth and last love. Away from harm. Away. Away. Away. Safe within the hotel walls. Safe within the arms of his guards. His loves. His childish, pure crushes that his heart manifested.   
Then, and only then, would he stop making those ugly noises. Though he would only stop for such a time. Only to start again. But inside. Inside. Inside where no one could hear. No one would look at him with pity. Or anger. Or sadness. Inside where the storm whirls around, and around. 

Only then. 

There was only so much the young prince, aged twelve, could do.


	5. liar

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> gladio is 19 here

"I'm fine."

He looks around the small room, trashed and cluttered, then to the large man curled into the corner. "You are far from it."

"There's nothing wrong with me Iggy."

Ignis curls his fists with anger, frustration courses through his veins. "Don't you dare--"

"Iggy, its my own damn fault. This isn't real. I'm lying to myself. I'm just doing this because its what I deserve."

He feels like crumbling to the sea. He has never seen Gladio so small. So broken. He has seen him cry, yes (if you count one tear being shed then wiped away before it could roll fully down his cheek; crying) but never like this.

Gladio's eyes were swollen red, nose dripping, drool leaking from the corner of his mouth. Limbs taught and shoulders shaking. Thighs red, a bloodied mess of cuts. And the man brushes it off as if it is nothing.

"It's nothing."

And Ignis, for the first but not last time in his life, doesn't know what to do. So he,

"I love you."

Gladio gives him what could be a smile, "Yeah?"

"A great deal, yes." 

Gladio looks at him, then an arm untenses, reaching out to him. Ignis is cautious but swiftly takes his shaking hand. He squeezes it gently.

"I love you." He repeats, as firm as his drying throat could do.

"Me too," 

It feels like Gladio wants to say more, but the hug Ignis gets pulled into and the shuddering breath that manages to rock both Gladio's and his own ribcage was enough.

Ignis did not stop saying his love for him. Even when the sun rose into the sky, he did not dare stop.


	6. not the anime

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> during wor, iggy is doing bad, prompto as well but he doesnt think they should worry about that.

"Oh dude, nice!" Prompto picks up the large red cup and goes to smell it, "What alcohol did you u--" He recoils and throws it into the sink.

Ignis winces at the noise.

Prompto has smelt this before so he starts, "Iggy..." with a shaking voice.

Ignis picks up socked feet glide on the carpeted flooring. He feels clammy, shaling hands grasp his shock still ones.

"I-iggy, you wouldn't," He starts again, but his voice falters. "No...That was just a mistake, right? You wouldn't--couldn't..."

The lack of response is like a pickaxe against Prompto's heartstone.

"Ignis." Voice is taught. "Haha, Ignis, why, why the _fuck_ did you put bleach in there?" Prompto's throat constricted at the same time Ignis' chest did. It led Ignis to exhale a loud and quaking breath, at the same time Prompto let out a harsh sob.

Ignis shook in Prompto's own shaking hold. Desperately, Ignis clawed at Prompto's strong hold. He was crying silently, body violently shivering, all for the fact that he was caught. That, now, he was caught, he would have an eye on him. Gods, could Ignis do anything right?

The bleach, the last he had. And now his freedom, already once has it been stripped from his lack of sight. Now? He will have the dulled sun or flightless eagle on his back, or, even worse, the lionheart or motherhen at his heels.

He is not a child. He does not want help.

"I can't lose you." Prompto rasps. Ignis has been thinking aloud.

"I can't lose you too!! I can't--I CAN'T--I--I don't know what I'll do if I lose you too!! Lose Gladio, lose Iris, lose--lose--lose--Ignis, please, please, PLEASE! DON'T! LEAVE! ME!? please don't make me wait so I can see you again!! Please, Ignis, plea--!!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lose--lose--lose  
> noctis  
> Noctis  
> NOCTIS


End file.
